


In Which Crowley is Smitten and Aziraphale Comes Back

by Estrella3791



Series: Coffee Shops and Cocoa [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Hot Chocolate, Smitten Crowley, Smitten Crowley (Good Omens), by which I mean, coffee shop AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:07:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27008563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Estrella3791/pseuds/Estrella3791
Summary: The title pretty much says it all.Sequel/continuation for 'Coffee Shop Shenanigans.'
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Coffee Shops and Cocoa [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1971151
Comments: 40
Kudos: 117





	In Which Crowley is Smitten and Aziraphale Comes Back

**Author's Note:**

> Coffee Shop Crowley is back by popular demand! (By which I mean, like, two people mentioned that they'd read a continuation, and I was like "SAY NO MORE.")  
> Please enjoy. :)

He wants Aziraphale to come back.

He’d never admit it, but Crowley has been looking up every time the bell to the shop rings, hoping it’ll be the angel. When it’s not he turns back to the counter, feeling foolish. 

It’s just… he can’t get those eyes out of his head. The eyes, or the voice, or the smile. Or that  _ stupid _ bowtie. 

Hastur’s noticed, and takes great pleasure in needling Crowley about it. It’s immensely irritating, but also weirdly gratifying, because if Hastur noticed, maybe there’s a chance. Maybe Aziraphale wouldn’t mind it if Crowley did something stupid, like scribbling his number on the side of a cup that says ‘soy latte’ but holds hot chocolate. 

(Crowley has wished fervently and often that he’d slipped Aziraphale his number.)

But he  _ didn’t _ make a move when Aziraphale was here, and he can’t make a move now, that ship has sailed, and Crowley is fine with it. Really. He doesn’t need to see Aziraphale again! He’ll be fine without him! He only met the man ( _ angel _ , his rebellious heart whispers,  **_angel_ ** ) once, after all. Not like you can make soul connections in ten minutes while muttering about hot chocolate. (And if his breath catches in his throat every time he sees fluffy blond hair… well. That’s beside the point.)

So there’s no reason for him to absolutely  _ lose it _ when the door jingles and he looks up and it’s Aziraphale.

“ _ HE _ llo, Aziraphale!” he says, loudly, and promptly regrets it.

His regret is cut short when Aziraphale positively  _ beams _ , and he has to focus on keeping his legs underneath of him instead.

“Good morning, Crowley!” he chirps. 

Crowley grumbles a little.

“Is there such a thing?”

Aziraphale smiles.

“Ah, not a morning person, then?”

Crowley feels sheepish. Aziraphale clearly  _ is _ a morning person. What if he doesn’t want to date someone who’s not? But he can’t lie (he has a vague idea that anyone who dared lie to Aziraphale would promptly be struck with fire from Heaven, and that they would thoroughly deserve it) so he gives an awkward shrug and changes the subject.

“What can I get for you today, angel?”

He feels himself going red because he didn’t  _ mean _ to say the ‘angel,’ he didn’t  _ mean  _ to forget himself like that, but his mind is all mush and his whole body feels topsy-turvy because  _ Aziraphale is here, Aziraphale is standing in front of him, Aziraphale’s  _ **_breathtaking_ ** _ eyes are sparkling… _

“... and I think that will be all.”

“Oh,” says Crowley, who hadn’t heard any of Aziraphale’s order because he was so busy staring. “Sorry, I - do you mind - ”

“Once more, then, if I must,” says Aziraphale, but he’s smiling at Crowley and doesn’t look at all bothered and he’s an angel, he’s  _ really _ an angel, he - “A chai latte, please, and one of these lovely Danish pastries that I can see behind the glass?”

“Of course,” says Crowley, scribbling the order down. “But - you sure you don’t want hot chocolate? It’s not those absolute  _ wankers _ making you - ”

“No, no,” says Aziraphale, twinkling. “Though I thank you for your concern. Hot chocolate simply seems to be a beverage best suited for later in the day, don’t you agree?”

“Uh - sure,” says Crowley, who has never had a sip of hot chocolate in his life. “That’s all, then?”

“It surely is,” says Aziraphale. “Thank you very much, Crowley.”

“Guh,” says Crowley.  _ He knows my name _ , he thinks,  _ he knows my  _ **_name_ ** ,  _ he  _ **_remembered_ ** \- “yeah, sure, anytime.”

And then he hands Ligur a cup and grabs a pastry and sets it on a plate and tries not to think about the fact that _Aziraphale is here, Aziraphale is watching him set this pastry on this plate, Aziraphale is_ ** _here_** -

“Oi!” 

Crowley blinks. Bee is holding their hand out, looking both expectant and exasperated. 

“May I have the dish so I can serve our guest, please?” they hiss. 

Crowley’s face heats up.

“Sorry,” he says, much more mumbly than he meant to be. He slinks back to his post by the cash feeling humiliated and unhappy and wishing fervently that he could go live in some alternate reality where he didn’t just zone out and make a fool of himself in front of Aziraphale. 

*

He’s mopey all week, which he knows is overkill but  _ why _ does he have to be such an idiot? The chance he’d been hoping for for ages, the chance to impress Aziraphale, had been handed to him on a silver platter, and he’d gone and mucked it up.

Typical, he thinks bitterly as he refills the napkin holders. (Bee has been having a horrible week, so he offered to take their closing shift. They’d never tell him, but he could tell that they appreciated it, which was more than enough for him. He doesn’t like to think about it, but the fact is that he’s pathetically soft.) Typical that he’d mess up the best thing that could ever happen to him before it even had a chance to actually happen. 

The bell over the door jangles and he snaps, “We’re closing!” without looking up from his napkins. 

“Oh,” says a familiar and somewhat distressed voice. “I do apologize, I didn’t mean to - ”

“No, it’s okay!” blurts Crowley, looking up and meeting Aziraphale’s eyes. His heart gives an enthusiastic kick in his chest and he shoves the remainder of the napkins into the holder. “Sorry, I thought you were - uh - a customer.”

“Well, I sort of am,” says Aziraphale awkwardly, “and I don’t want to keep you any longer than you need to be here.”

“I don’t mind,” says Crowley, dashing around to get behind the counter. “What can I get for you, Aziraphale?”

“I really don’t want to impose,” says Aziraphale fussily. “I’m sure you need to be getting home.”

“Anything for you,” Crowley blurts recklessly, and regrets it until Aziraphale flushes brightly, which is entirely too enjoyable to watch.

“Oh,” he says, “if you’re  _ sure _ …”

_ Never been more sure of anything in my life _ , thinks Crowley.

“Wouldn’t be offering if I wasn’t,” he says instead.

“Oh - oh, thank you, Crowley,” says Aziraphale, glowing. Crowley nearly swallows his tongue. It’s too late at night to handle beautiful people smiling at him like he hung the stars in the sky.

He tries to pretend he’s not blushing and focuses instead on what he’s supposed to be doing. Asking! Yes! Asking! What Aziraphale wants!

“So, what can I get you?”

“Ah, yes,” says Aziraphale. “The thing is…” He clasps his hands in front of him. It’s incredibly endearing. “The thing  _ is _ …” 

“We don’t have any pastries,” says Crowley, overwhelmed by the look on Aziraphale’s face. “Anymore, I mean. Today. I mean, we boxed them all up. I can only do a drink.”

“That’s all right,” says Aziraphale, and he straightens up. Crowley can’t breathe, because Aziraphale’s  _ eyes _ …

This cannot mean what he thinks it means.

“I didn’t come here for a pastry,  _ or _ a drink,” he says, and his voice is even but his fingers keep twisting around one another. “I came here to ask for your mobile number.”

And  _ that _ … 

That is so much more than Crowley has dared to hope for in the three weeks that he’s been moping around over a man that he met twice. It’s enough to stop his heart. It’s enough to render him speechless.

“Munuh,” he says.

Aziraphale looks both nervous and amused. 

“You can’t be  _ that _ surprised,” he says awkwardly. “You’re quite… You’re very lovely, Crowley, you know.”

Crowley can’t quite seem to think. He can’t remember how to speak. He isn’t feeling particularly confident in his ability to remain upright, either, to be honest.

“Oh,” says Aziraphale, clearly misinterpreting his silence and looking even more painfully anxious. “I’m so sorry. I never - I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“No!” jabbers Crowley. “No, no, no! It’s just - never expected - you - ugck.” He struggles to find words, but takes comfort in the fact that Aziraphale has relaxed. (He’s smiling, too, but Crowley can’t think about that or he’ll lose the faculty of speech again.) “I’m - thanks.”

“You’re very welcome,” returns Aziraphale, grinning, which is enough to send Crowley’s heart into a paroxysm of fluttering. This is  _ ridiculous _ . “May I have your number, now?”

“Guh - mnf - ngk - yeah,” falters Crowley, feeling very thoroughly overwhelmed, and scribbles the string of digits onto the side of a cup before shuffling over to steam some milk.

“Whatever you’re doing,” begins Aziraphale, “you don’t have to - ”

“Want to,” mumbles Crowley impulsively, pouring the milk and stirring in the chocolate sauce. 

“Oh, Crowley,” says Aziraphale, smiling even more brightly. How is that even possible? “ _Thank_ you. You’re so incredibly kind.” 

“Glrck,” says Crowley, snatching at the whipped cream in a last-ditch attempt to ground himself. “‘S’nothing.”

It’s not nothing, and they both know it, and they both know  _ why _ it’s not nothing, but Aziraphale is gracious enough not to comment further until Crowley places the steaming cup in his hands.

“Thank you,” he says again, grazing his fingers against Crowley’s. Tingles race up and down his arm. “For everything.”

“I - ” Crowley’s not good at this, has  _ never _ been good at this, probably  _ will _ never be good at this, but dammit, he’d like to try. “I really - uh - you’re very - hrm - ”

“It’s all right, dear. I know,” says Aziraphale gently. 

_ It’s just that you’re very beautiful and I am beyond stunned and honoured that you would choose to ask for  _ **_my_ ** _ number, of all people, and I want to tell you this because it’s important that you know _ , thinks Crowley.

“Okay,” he says instead, and then, because it really is getting late and he needs to be up by 8:30 tomorrow morning, “I’ll, uh - ”

He can’t seem to finish the sentence, because even though Aziraphale just waltzed in here and asked him for his number it doesn’t quite make sense that an actual angel would want to spend time or energy on him and  _ I’ll look forward to your text _ feels far too presumptuous. 

“I’ll send you a text,” says Aziraphale, brandishing the cup. “And - oh! How much do I owe you for the cocoa?”

“On the house,” says Crowley, and they both know he means  _ on me _ .

Aziraphale looks like he has many things to say, but he settles for, “Thank you again, Crowley. I am very much looking forward to getting to know you better.” 

And then he walks away and the bell dings and he’s gone and Crowley is sagging against the counter, insides turned to mush.

He decides, while he waits for his legs to stop imitating spaghetti noodles and brace themselves to carry him home, that it has been a very good day.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!!!


End file.
